


About a Girl

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Willam is an international drag superstar, and Courtney… well… isn’t. Not yet at least.</p><p>Christmas in the background.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About a Girl

A friend of Willam’s once told him about this German saying, “You always meet twice in life”.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you hook up with a particularly hot trick, and if you want to see him again, even if you didn’t trade numbers or whatever, you’re going to meet sometime. It’s destiny.”

“Destiny my ass. Pass me the pot.”

*

Willam steps into this crowded club on a long, long night of drags, drugs and dicks.

He lost many things on the way here: his entourage, some condoms, a scarf and probably most of his lipstick. If somebody wanted to be funny, they could say he lost his dignity, too, but that was already long gone. He feels at home among the crowd of sweaty, alive bodies, listening to the uncanny voice coming from the stage.

There’s a girl performing, and she’s something quite different, Willam realizes. She’s a captivating presence, but cute. Her mic malfunctions and she changes some of her song lyrics to “fucking shitty fuck” (at least Willam suspects these lyrics weren’t there in the first place); still cute. There’s a bit of pink lipstick staining her teeth and she almost, but not quite, manages to hit a very high note; still cute as fuck.

Willam’s blood starts flowing faster in his veins. The girl is just outrageously beautiful. He’s never been this attracted to a femme before.

There’s something sour about the girl though. Something broken. Something rotten.

Maybe it’s in the way her Adam’s apple moves when she swallows and finally manages to nail that note on the head. Maybe it’s in the way her cheeks are painted high and bright, revealing her commanding stage persona to be a lie.

Willam loves everything that’s twisted and different. Willam wants to know everything about the girl. He wants to get beneath the surface, drive his fake nails into the flesh and hold on.

He’s Willam fucking Belli, so when he wants to get backstage, he does. There’s that “moderately famous drag queen” card glued to his forehead permanently.

The smell of perfume guides Willam through dark corridors, even though it’s more like a scent of this sparkly, watered down crap you’d get half off at Bath & Body Works. Doesn’t matter. Willam’s tuned in.

A faint light is coming from a dressing room where he sees the girl in front of a mirror, unpinning her blond wig and carefully placing it in a bag.

“Hello. I’m Willam.”

The blond creature smiles, _of course you are_ , and extends a hand. “Courtney.”

The girl has an accent (Australian?) that was kind of lost on Willam when she was singing, bright eyes and soft skin. They make small talk until they don’t anymore. They spend long minutes just staring at each other and grinning, and there’s a sinking feeling at the bottom of Willam’s stomach, because he knows perfectly well how it goes from here.

“So, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and I have absolutely nothing to do”, says Courtney, playing with her necklace.

“Good. Me neither.”

*

In a hotel room, Willam meets Shane, and he’s just as breathtaking as Courtney.

There are Christmas decorations on the streets outside and a wreath hanging on the door of their room, but Willam couldn’t care less. He receives the best blowjob of the year (and it’s December, goddamnit) and gives one, too, if Shane’s loud moans are anything to judge from. Baby Jesus stares at them from a postcard on the dresser while they make the headboard bang against the wall.

Shane looks, laughs and breathes like he spent too much time in the sun. He’s warm, honest, forward and wonderful.

Between wanting to know absolutely every single detail about him and not having any time to ask questions, Willam learns very little. He learns Shane’s favorite food, but not his last name. He learns his place of birth, but not his favorite color. He learns how and where Shane likes to be kissed, but not the name of the person who did it best.

They waste the next day in bed, ordering room service, watching game shows and exploring each other’s bodies. Willam feels like he’s in a movie, a weird cross between _Love Actually_ and that one porno he watched a few days ago. It’s toe-curling, brain-twisting and completely empty inside.

*

Shane has an early flight on December 26th and Willam can’t be forced out of bed. He lets Shane press a burning kiss against his mouth and ruffle his hair. The click of the door being locked is something from between a dream and reality, like those days and nights spent with Shane were.

Later, he finds a phone number written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror. He takes a picture of it, his bleached hair and naked chest reflecting in the background, and never does anything with it.

*

Months later, he’s watching TV in his LA house, sitting comfortably on a couch with Warner drooling in his lap. _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ is on at Logo. It’s probably the new season Willam still hasn’t seen a single episode of, so he decides to stop skipping over channels.

When he notices the same beach blond hair and bright eyes on his screen, he thinks, _oh_. When he watches his girl spread literal wings on the runway, he thinks, _oh_ , and then, _oh fuck_.

His heart doesn’t quite skip a beat, but his breath definitely hitches.

Everything suddenly makes sense.

*

It’s winter again, December 22nd, and Willam is supposed to fly back home tomorrow. He’s in Glasgow of all places, his expensive boots drowning in the melting mix of snow and mud while he’s walking to the club from a taxi. Icy wind bites his skin, not covered well enough by the fur coat he’s wearing, but fuck, at least he looks impeccable. He’ll drink some booze before the gig to get warm.

He tears his eyes away from the pavement, shielding them from the wind, _where’s the fucking entrance?_ , and his gaze stops on a woman wearing a tight black coat, red pumps and a feathery white boa. She’s talking on the phone while the wind wrecks her blond curls.

Willam clears his throat. The girl hangs up her phonecall and looks at him, yes, finally.

There’s no earthquake, no confetti, absolutely no plot twists, just him and Courtney on a snowy street, and Courtney starts laughing.

“Hello, stranger”, she says, eyes wide open, face just as mesmerizing as Willam remembered. He never suspected his head could spin like that.

“Hi.”

You always meet twice in life. Sometimes, twice is enough.

Willam doesn’t fly home for Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Forever yours at samrull.tumblr.com


End file.
